


Longshot Shorts

by lyrically_lost



Series: Longshot [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Family Dinners, Ficlet Collection, Future Fic, Gen, Origin Story, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, SMH ‘21 Crickets, SWH ‘21 Cubs, Underrated friendship, building a snowman, friendship drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:01:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24721999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyrically_lost/pseuds/lyrically_lost
Summary: The past, present, and future of the girls of Samwell Women's Hockey.
Relationships: Jordan "Seven" Severide & Sierra "Eight" Ochoa, Kelly "Franco" Franceschi & Delaney "Rosie" Rosen, Mackenzie "Donner" Donohue & Kelly "Franco" Franceschi
Series: Longshot [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1787440
Kudos: 5





	1. Brain Stew/Jaded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before they were the inseparable Seven and Eight, they were just Jordan and Sierra. And they didn't like each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ficlet title from the Green Day song. 
> 
> I apologize in advance for any inaccuracies in my Spanish.

“Guys, I…” Jordan began. “I’m going to college. Away. In the States.”

“Jordie, no!” AJ exclaimed. 

Kyle slapped him on the shoulder and offered a warm smile. “Hey, that’s great! Where are you going?”

“Samwell. It’s near Boston,” Jordan replied.

“But that’s so far,” AJ whined. “Why aren’t you just going to UToronto like the rest of us?”

“It’s for hockey, isn’t it,” Gabe said.

Jordan nodded. “They gave me an athletic scholarship. D1 women’s hockey program, but a small liberal arts school in a good college town.” She sighed. “I would love to stay here and keep making music with you guys, but…” She paused and fumbled for the right words.

“You can’t pass up on this opportunity,” Kyle finished for her. When Jordan cringed, he added, “Jordie, it’s okay. We understand.”

“Though we’re gonna miss you like hell,” AJ said. “I don’t think we’ll ever have a better bassist.”

“Or friend,” Gabe added.

“And seriously, Sevs,” Kyle said. “Go live your life. Go play fuckin’ awesome hockey and join a random college band and don’t even think about us.”

Jordan cracked a smile. “But I’ve still got a few months with you guys so don’t act like I’m already dead,” she said. “We gotta make the most of it, eh?”

“Of course,” Gabe agreed.

AJ shouted, “Deadlights forever!”

“Until we change the name again,” Kyle deadpanned.

Jordan laughed, but she couldn’t cover up the unease in her chest.

* * *

Sierra closed the lid of her laptop. “That’s it, I’m going to Samwell!”

“We’re so proud of you, _mija_ ,” her mother said. 

Her father added, “You’re going to do great things.”

Sierra beamed. “Thanks.”

“You should call your _abuelita_ ,” her mother suggested.

“Sure she’s not going to give me a lecture about going to college on a hockey scholarship?”

Her father shook his head. “My mother can be incredibly stubborn and strong-willed, but I know she’ll be proud of you too.”

“Here’s hoping you’re right,” Sierra replied with a shrug. “I’m gonna go make that call.” She ducked into her room and called her grandmother.

“ _¿Aló?_ ”

“ _Hola, abuelita_ ,” Sierra greeted.

“Ah, Sierra! _¡Qué sorpresa!_ ”

“ _Sí. Tengo buenas noticias, abuelita._ ”

“Oh, _¿de verdad? Digame._ ”

“ _Voy a colegio, abuelita,_ ” Sierra said. “I just enrolled at Samwell.”

“Samwell?” her grandmother replied. “Did you get rejected by Harvard?”

Sierra hid her sigh from the phone. “I was accepted, but that wasn’t where I wanted to go.”

“Oh well. _Pero me alegro por ti. Felicitaciones._ ”  
“ _Gracias, abuelita_.” She hesitated for a moment and nearly said that she was going to Samwell to play hockey, but Sierra caught herself. She didn’t want to ruin this fleeting moment of her grandmother’s pride prematurely. 

“ _Trabaja dura, Sierra,_ ” her grandmother said. 

She smiled slightly into her phone. It was her grandmother’s favorite phrase. “ _Lo haré, abuelita,_ ” Sierra promised.

That night, Sierra read through her favorite book of poetry and tried to reconcile the equal feelings of excitement and dread that rested in the pit of her stomach.

* * *

Jordan and Sierra both got a text soon after they had settled into their dorms at Samwell. 

_Hey its anna candela captain of swh. Be @ 1152 becker 9 tn :P_

1152 Becker Street was, of course, a trashy off-campus student house that happened to be the home base of the infamously rambunctious women’s hockey player Anna Candela and a few of her friends. Neither Jordan nor Sierra had any idea of the reputations of their new captain or her house when they showed up that night. 

Sierra arrived at exactly 9, wearing an outfit meant to make a good first impression on her new teammates. The house at 1152 Becker Street looked like it was falling apart at the seams; when she knocked on the door, she had a feeling it would fall right off its hinges. Luckily, it did not and instead, the door was opened by a girl in a tight white tank top and sweatpants with a rolled waistband. 

“You must be one of the frosh,” she said, her voice monotone. “Come on in.”

The inside of the house was roughly what Sierra expected. The walls could use another coat of paint and the floor was riddled with stains. There was a group of girls spread throughout the living room and kitchen, most with drinks in hand and all chattering aimlessly.

One girl leaned against a wall in the kitchen. She wore a red Samwell Hockey sweatshirt and a pair of denim shorts and had a phone held to her ear. She smiled and waved at Sierra. “Hi! You must be Sierra!” she said cheerily. “I’m Candy. Well, Anna, but call me Candy.”

“You’re the captain?” Sierra asked hesitantly.

Candy nodded. “Yeah, that’s me. I’d love to chat but I’m kinda on hold with the pizza place so we’ll catch up later?”

Before Sierra could reply, a voice from the living room shouted, “You’re calling the wrong pizza place!” Was that…

Another girl stormed into the kitchen. She had a black baseball cap sitting backwards over her short hair and wore a messily cut cropped t-shirt and a pair of black sweatpants. Sierra was definitely overdressed. 

“You’re calling the wrong pizza place!” the girl repeated. “Samwell Pizzeria puts sauce and cheese on cardboard. Hang up and call Tony’s on River!” And yeah, that was definitely a Jersey accent.

“But I’ve already been on hold for five minutes,” Candy protested.

“I can nearly guarantee you won’t be on hold at Tony’s. It’s a hidden gem,” the Jersey girl said.

Candy sighed. “Fine, Franco. But you owe me!” She took the phone off her ear and punched in a new number while consulting a list on the fridge.

The Jersey girl finally noticed Sierra. “Oh, hey,” she said. “New frosh?”

“Yeah. Sierra, nice to meet you,” she replied.

“Cool. Call me Franco. Where’re you from?”

“New York. The city.”

“Oh sweet!” Franco said. “That means I have an ally in defending the right pizza and bagels!” She added, “I’m from New Jersey, by the way.”

“I could tell.”

Franco raised her voice and called, “You hear that, Donner? New frosh says I got a Jersey accent!”

“Shut up, Franco!” came the response from the other room.

Franco only grinned. “Welcome to the team.”

* * *

1152 Becker Street looked like a punk house. Even its address sounded like a punk house, like 924 Gilman Street. Jordan could practically hear a singer’s voice distorted through shitty speakers, feel the bass echoing through the floor, smell that distinctive mix of sweat, weed, and beer. She could play a show here… well, if she had a band.

Jordan knocked on the door and a few moments later, a girl in a backwards baseball cap and a hand-cut crop top opened it. Before she even said anything to Jordan, she shouted, “Got the last of the frosh!” Then she turned to Jordan. “Come on in. Cool hair, by the way.”

Jordan casually tossed a lock of blue hair over her shoulder. “Thanks.”

Despite 1152 Becker Street looking like a punk house, there was no concert going on inside. Instead, Jordan found a gaggle of girls dispersed throughout the kitchen and living room. There were a few open boxes of pizza on the kitchen counter and nearly everyone had a beer or a red Solo cup. 

“Hi, you must be Jordan,” a cheery brunette said. “I’m Anna, I’m the captain. Call me Candy.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jordan replied plainly.

“You too. So help yourself, talk, get to know people. We’ll play a few games soon, but for now, just enjoy yourself.”

Jordan nodded, then ducked away from Candy’s extra cheeriness. She took a slice of pizza, though it was cold now, and grabbed a beer, then mingled a little. She found out that the girl at the door in the crop top was Franco and that she had some weird regional American accent. She met Benny, a junior who would be on the blueline with her. And literally everyone she talked to said something about her hair. 

After a little while, someone whistled loudly and the house fell quiet. Candy was standing on one of the couches. “Alright, everyone gather in the living room!” she said. “It’s time to get to know our freshmen.”

The other girls piled onto the couches, but Jordan and two other girls were made to sit on the rug in the middle of the room. Jordan looked at the other two freshmen. One wore a striped t-shirt and cuffed jeans, with her light brown hair done in two French braids. She had a big smile and looked younger than she was, unless she wasn’t actually 18 or 19. The other had dark, curly hair and dark tan skin. She was wearing jeans too, but also a fucking blouse, with a floral print and buttons. Add in Jordan with her blue hair and tank top made from a Sum 41 shirt with the sleeves cut off and they made quite a trio. 

“Alright, freshmen!” Candy said. “So like, introduce yourselves! Say like, your name, where you’re from, what position you play, and like, something interesting about you.”

Jordan and the other two looked at each other and shrugged. 

“I’ll go first,” the one with the braids said. “Hi y’all, I’m Fiona Callender, I’m from Richmond, Virginia, and I play forward. And, um, I’m a good artist!” Jordan’s met a lot of different hockey players over the years, but Fiona seemed too wholesome to be one. It would be interesting to see her on the ice.

Now Jordan and the girl in the blouse glanced at each other. Jordan sighed. “I’ll go, I guess. I’m Jordan Severide, I’m from Toronto, I’m a D-man. I also play bass guitar,” she said bluntly.

“Guess that leaves me,” the girl in the blouse said. “I’m Sierra Ochoa, I’m from New York City. I’m a defender. I’m also a pre-law English major.” Of course the girl in the fucking blouse is fucking pre-law. Jordan didn’t like her already. 

“Alright, cool, nice to meet you three,” Candy said. “Now, everyone make sure you have a drink. We’re playing Never Have I Ever.”

* * *

“For the next set, I want Quinn, Nussbaum, and LaSalle, and Severide and Ochoa on defense,” Coach Healy announced. 

Sierra took her position. She glanced at Jordan, who was doing the same, and sighed. 

Ever since the first practice, Sierra did not get along with the blue-haired Toronto native. As the two first-year defenders, they were stallmates, but Jordan didn’t know how to keep neat. Her things kept encroaching into Sierra’s space, and when Sierra pushed them back at her, Jordan got mad. When Sierra offered Jordan a suggestion on how to improve her technique at practice, Jordan got mad. When Sierra tried engaging her at a team breakfast, Jordan got mad. It seemed nearly everything Sierra did made Jordan mad for no apparent reason.

Coach Gardner blew the whistle and the drill was afoot. Nuss had the puck, so Sierra kept her eyes on her and positioned herself on Nuss’ right to cut off any passes to Sally.  
But then Nuss passed to JQuinn, who faked out Lenny and put it in the top right corner. When Sierra looked for Jordan, her defense partner was near her instead of by JQuinn.

Sierra couldn’t understand why the coaches kept putting her and Jordan together. Every drill they were put together for failed, all because Jordan couldn’t communicate, and Sierra had enough.

“What the hell was that?” she exclaimed. “Did you not see that I was covering the right? You should’ve taken the left and cut off Nuss from passing to JQuinn!”

“You’re yelling at me?” Jordan responded. “I should be the one chewing you out! You’re clearly blind if you thought Nuss was gonna pass to Sally, she was always intending on passing to JQuinn. You should’ve been covering her, and I was trying to cut off shooting lanes!”

“Enough!” Coach Gardner shouted, interrupting before Sierra could retort. He looked between Jordan and Sierra. “Get your act together. You’re teammates. Mistakes happen, but you can’t do this.”

“Sorry Coach,” Sierra said. Jordan mumbled the same, then shot Sierra a glare as they headed back to the bench. Sierra wondered how anyone could ever work with someone as selfish and stubborn as Jordan.

* * *

“Alright. Sevs, the aux is yours.” Candy ceremonially handed the aux cord to Jordan. 

She took it and grinned. “You guys made the right choice giving me the aux before a game,” Jordan said, “‘cause I’ve got a playlist that’s gonna fire you up.” She was met with wary expressions from her teammates. She plugged in her phone and hit play anyway, smiling as the opening riff of Sum 41’s “The Hell Song” crackled out of the locker room speakers.

Sierra scoffed as Jordan sat down next to her. “Of course this is what you choose to listen to,” she mumbled.

Jordan glared at her. “What’d you just say?”

“I’m not surprised by your choice of music,” Sierra said.

Jordan rolled her eyes. “Yeah, it’s not like I wear band shirts all the time and literally played bass in a punk band.”

“Oh, I never noticed that,” Sierra replied, sarcasm dripping from her voice. “I was just thinking it explained all your pent-up anger.”

Jordan gritted her teeth. “Oh, I’ll show you pent-up anger,” she grumbled.

Sierra smirked in response.

The song pouring out of the speakers changed to a tune from the Flatliners and JQuinn exclaimed, “Hey, Sevs, this is cool!”

“Thanks,” Jordan said. With a pointed look toward Sierra, she added, “Glad someone thinks so.” 

It may have been petty, but Jordan relished getting the last word.

* * *

The paperback in Sierra’s hand was pulled away from her face, revealing Jordan’s smirking mug. 

“Hey, Earth to Ocho!” Jordan said.

Sierra scowled and wrenched her book back. “What.”

“I dunno, maybe make friends with people instead of pages?”

“I’m doing work,” Sierra replied curtly.

“At team breakfast?”

Sierra rolled her eyes and tried to find the word she left off on. “Some of us care about something other than ourselves.”

“You’re calling me selfish?” Jordan retorted. “Try taking a look in the mirror.” Sierra ignored her. Jordan scoffed. “What, where’s all that wit now?”

Sierra glanced up for a moment. “Fuck you, Sevs,” she declared plainly. Then she turned back to her reading.

* * *

Coach Gardner was reading out the line combinations ahead of a game against Princeton. He listed the defense pairs. “Benjamin and Magnussen, Cole and Fischer, Severide and Ochoa.”

Immediately upon hearing their names read together, Jordan and Sierra scowled at each other. When Gardner had finished, Sierra stood up and approached him. Jordan followed, and he waved them both outside.

Sierra was about to say something, but Gardner stopped her. “Before you say anything, let me explain,” he began. “We’ve been suffering defensively the past few games, I’m sure you two are aware of that, and part of that has been due to the fact that Benny and Mags, our top defensive pairing, have been split up and paired with you guys. Me and Coach Healy decided that it’s for the best if we put Benny and Mags back together, but that meant putting you two together as well. Now, we know you two don’t get along. You’re not gonna be playing a lot tonight, I’m putting that out there now. But maybe, if you put aside your differences and get your act together for the sake of this team, you can prove us wrong. Okay?”

Jordan and Sierra both nodded. “Okay.”

“Good.” Gardner left, leaving Jordan and Sierra with each other.

Sierra sighed. “It’s one game. We can pretend we tolerate each other for one game.”

“But can we really?” Jordan fired back. “Because if I recall, someone’s prissy perfectionist ass kept ruining all of our drills.”

“Oh, that’s rich,” Sierra said. “Yes, go ahead, just totally exempt yourself from any and all responsibility, because you’re clearly flawless.”

“Fuck you, Ocho.”

“Yeah, of course you’ve got nothing better than that,” Sierra scoffed. “You know what I think, Sevs? I think you’re a selfish bitch who can’t work with others in the slightest because you’re too busy thinking no one can play nice with you. You’re shit at communicating because you can’t possibly consider needs that aren’t your own. You’re an asshole for the sake of being an asshole.”

“Alright, you wanna know what I think?” Jordan retorted. “I think you’ve got a stick so far up your ass that it’s fucking with your brain. You need the world to be perfectly fucking perfect, so you’re gonna try to push around anything that doesn’t fit your interests. You’re so fucking uptight and controlling, and if anyone is the selfish bitch, it’s you, because anything outside of your perfect zone is a problem. So yeah, I won’t fucking play nice because you won’t either.”

The door to the locker room slammed open, revealing Lenny. “Enough,” the goalie declared. Her voice wasn’t raised nor angry, but Lenny Brankovic was intimidating as hell. Jordan and Sierra both clammed up immediately. “Finish getting ready,” Lenny said. “We’re all gonna talk about this after the game.”

Jordan and Sierra followed her back into the locker room, but not without giving each other another glare.

* * *

Jordan sighed and jogged to catch up with Sierra. “Hey, Ocho!” she called.

Sierra rolled her eyes, but she slowed until she and Jordan were in step.

At the start of spring semester, the two freshmen had found themselves in the same biology course, much to their chagrin. Luckily, it hadn’t been an issue yet. They sat on opposite sides of the lecture hall and ignored each other. 

They were walking out of that class today when Jordan tried to get Sierra’s attention.

“What?” Sierra said, half annoyed and half exhausted.

Jordan barely resisted the urge to fire a crude insult. Here she was, about to swallow her pride and fucking _apologize_ , and the least Sierra could do is act somewhat interested. “Look, I’m sorry,” she spits out. “I’ve been a bit of an asshole and I shouldn’t have.”

Sierra raises an eyebrow. “A bit?”

“For fuck’s sake…” Jordan mumbles. “I’m actually trying to play nice here, least you could do is acknowledge it.”

“You’re right. Sorry,” Sierra said. “I should really apologize to you too, actually. I’m at fault as well, I’ve said some really shitty things to you.”

“Alright,” Jordan replied. “I’m willing to try being civil if you can hold up your end.”

“Ditto,” Sierra agreed. “It takes more energy to be at war with you.”

“Yeah. Let’s leave it at that.”

Jordan walked away, but it wasn’t quite left at that because Jordan and Sierra suddenly found themselves as lab partners.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Jordan mumbled.

“Hey, we’re trying civility, remember?” Sierra said. “This is just testing that.”

“Right.” Jordan sighed and added, “I can make it work if you can.”

“I can make it work,” Sierra replied.

“Alright.”

As they started to get everything set up, Sierra added, “And hey, if we can survive each other in the lab, maybe we can survive each other on the ice. Then we can stop killing the defense.”

“Maybe,” Jordan said. “Lenny definitely wants to murder us both, so.”

“I think Lenny wants to murder half the team, not just us,” Sierra replied. “And I think she’d actually do it.”

“Oh yeah. Bludgeon us to death with her goalie stick.”

“Nah, stab us with a skate.”

They both laughed, then stopped short. That had never happened before. 

It wasn’t the last time, either. It turned out being in the same class was good for Jordan and Sierra. They slowly got to know each other off the ice and away from the rest of the team, and the ice started to break.

Jordan found that yeah, Sierra was absolutely neurotic and definitely bossy, but she was crazy smart, and had a great sense of humor. She laughed easily, and enjoyed wordplay.

Sierra found that yeah, Jordan wasn’t the greatest at communicating, but she had the craziest stories and was oddly wise. She always had interesting insights on life and the world.

Maybe, just maybe, the diametrically opposed defenders didn’t hate each other as much as they thought.

* * *

It was five minutes into the second period and Samwell was tied 1-1 against Harvard. Sierra and Jordan were on the ice together, Lenny in net behind them and JQuinn, Nuss, and Sally in front of them.

Sierra was battling for the puck in the corner with one of the Harvard forwards, Number 5. Number 5 grunted and spat, “Why don’t you get off my back and go back to Mexico.”

It wasn’t the first time Sierra heard a racially-charged chirp, but it caught her off guard, giving Number 5 the opportunity she needed to take the puck. Franco got her glove on the ensuing shot, stopping play, but red-hot anger was already rising in Sierra’s chest.

Jordan came over to her as Nuss and the Harvard center lined up for the face-off. “What’d she say,” Jordan asked quietly.

“It’s nothing,” Sierra responded.

Then the ref dropped the puck, Nuss won the draw, and play was on again. Sierra could see Jordan looking fired up, her eyes scanning for Number 5, but Harvard had changed lines.

Next time Jordan and Sierra were on the ice, so was Number 5. “Hey Ochoa, where’s your green card?” she taunted.

Sierra gritted her teeth around her mouthguard and cleared the puck out of Samwell’s zone anyway. She wasn’t going to let Number 5 get to her. 

When she and Jordan were back on the bench, Jordan said, “5 said something to you again. What was it?”

“It’s nothing,” Sierra replied. “Thinks she can get a reaction out of me by chirping me for being Latina.”

Jordan shook her head, the fire back in her eyes. “I’m gonna get that bitch.”

“Sevs, don’t worry about it,” Sierra said. “It’s nothing I haven’t heard before, and we don’t need the penalties.”

“But-”

Sierra cut her off. “I said don’t worry about it.”

With a minute and a half left in the second, Sierra scored, breaking the deadlock of the period to bring Samwell up 2-1. As Jordan, Calamity, Candy, and Eddie encircled her in a celly hug, Sierra grinned. Take that, Number 5.

Then the third period rolled around.

Jordan came up next to Number 5 in pursuit of the puck along the far wall, then slammed her into the boards.

The ref’s whistle sounded. “ _Penalty, Samwell number 17, Jordan Severide, minor for body checking._ ”

As Jordan skated off to the box, she grinned at Sierra. As the penalty kill unit came on, Sierra looked at Jordan and shook her head.

That scene played out three more times before the end of the game. Jordan checked Number 5 with probably a little more force than necessary, got herself a penalty, and grinned at Sierra as she skated off. Sierra acted disappointed each time, but inside, she was just a little proud.

After the game, Coach Healy ripped Jordan a new one. Sierra waited for her after in the hallway outside the locker room. 

“Hey,” Jordan said. “Did you know Healy has a vein right on his forehead that throbs when he yells at you?”

Sierra shook her head, but smiled at the same time. “You didn’t need to do that, you know.”

“No, I did have to do that. Or do something,” Jordan said. “No one gets to talk to my teammates like that. No one gets to talk to anyone like that.”

“Sevs, I can fight my own battles.”

“I know you can. But that doesn’t mean you have to fight alone.”

“The PK units are gonna murder you in your sleep.”

Jordan snorted. “They can get in line.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Yeah. So what?”

Sierra smiled at the ground. Maybe a little crazy was what she needed.

* * *

Jordan headed to her hotel room, scenes from their loss to Clarkson still swirling through her head. She found her room, opened the door, dropped her stuff, and flopped backward onto the bed closer to the windows. She sighed and stared at the ceiling. This was a big game, and they blew it. _She_ blew it. Clarkson shouldn’t have been able to get that last-minute goal, she should have-

The door to the room clicked open, interrupting Jordan’s self-deprecating reverie. It was Sierra. “Uh, hi?” she said.

Jordan sat up. “What are you doing here?”

“Benny and I traded rooms,” Sierra replied. “I normally room with Cal, but she’s, y’know, injured, and our blueline den mother wanted to make sure she was okay.”

“Okay,” Jordan said. “How’s Cal doing? Do they know what it is?”

“She’s doing okay. Trainers say she sprained her ankle pretty badly though, probably third or fourth degree. She’s not gonna be able to finish the season.”

“Wow. That sucks.”

“Not like there’s much of a season left,” Sierra said with a shrug. “At this rate, we might not make playoffs.”

“I thought I was supposed to be the pessimistic one.”

“I’m not a pessimist, I’m a realist,” Sierra replied. “I’m just calling it like I see it.”

Jordan sighed and flopped down on the bed again. “I don’t want to think that our season’s nearly over. Because if the season’s nearly over that means the year is nearly over. Which means I’ve gone through my entire freshman year of college and still haven’t done shit.” Quieter, she added, “Because I still can’t decide if I made the right choice.”

“What do you mean, the right choice?”

“It’s complicated. Whole bunch of personal shit.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sierra asked.

“Fuck no.”

“Alright then.”

A little later, Jordan and Sierra both laid in bed, the lights off but neither one of them asleep.

“Hey, Sevs,” Sierra said. 

“What,” Jordan grumbled.

“I was thinking about what you said. About making the right choice. And I realized, I don’t know if I’ve made the right one either.”

“What would you have to choose between?” Jordan said. “You’ve had a perfect path laid out for you this whole time. You’ve always known what you wanted to do.”

“Not always,” Sierra replied. “I… second-guess things a lot. I’m a perfectionist, you know that, you called me out on that. I question whether I’m on the right path, sometimes. Whether I should be playing hockey. Whether I should be majoring in English. Whether I should be at Samwell.”

Sierra’s words stuck in Jordan’s brain because they sounded so much like her own thoughts. “Yeah,” Jordan said. “I know what you mean.” She sighed. “You ever think about what your life would be if you made one of those different choices?”

“All the time. It’s like, you know how the Multiverse Theory suggests that ever decision you ever make has its own several universes where you did one thing or another?”

“I have no fucking clue what you just said.”

Sierra chuckled. “That’s okay. But yeah, I imagine what the alternate universe version of me is doing sometimes.” She asked, “Do you?”

“Yeah,” Jordan said. “But I know exactly what that other me is doing.”

“And what’s that?”

“She’s playing shows at shitty Toronto punk venues with her best friends.” Jordan added, “I wonder if that other me is happy.”

“Who knows,” Sierra replied. “But the question is, are you happy? Where you are, I mean.”

“I guess,” Jordan said. “I think I usually am. Are you?”

“Yeah. I am.”

Jordan rolls over, away from Sierra. “Night, Ocho,” she said.

“Night, Sevs.”

* * *

It was the end-of-season dinner for Samwell Women’s Hockey. They did better than they expected, honestly, although their season did come to an early end. They squeaked into the ECAC playoffs, then lost to Cornell in the first round. But altogether, it wasn’t a bad season. Jordan and Sierra would both take it. It was only their freshman year, after all. 

The eating and casual chatter had ended and the team awards were being given out. Lenny was named season MVP, and the notoriously serious goalie actually cracked a smile when she accepted her award. JQuinn was voted captain, with a clear majority this time. Her acceptance speech was short, but delivered with a mischievous grin. 

Then it was time for the award for the most improved player. Coach Gardner got up to announce it. “The Denise A. Mitchell Award is awarded to the player who has demonstrated the most improvement as a member of Samwell Women’s Hockey over the course of a season,” he began. “For the first time in the history of the award, the team staff is recognizing two players for their improvement this season. They had a lot of trouble early this season, but eventually, they managed to put their differences behind them for the better of themselves and this team, on the ice and off it. As such, I am proud to present this award to Jordan Severide and Sierra Ochoa.”

Jordan and Sierra stood up as their teammates applauded around them. Gardner shook their hands as he passed them both plaques. “Great job, girls,” he said.

Jordan and Sierra smiled wide in those pictures, holding their matching plaques. In a different time, they’d never be able to stand that close to each other without breaking into an argument.

Jordan and Sierra sat back down and the award ceremony was finished up, including a bit for Coach Healy, who was leaving Samwell. 

“You know, now that I think about it, you two never really got good nicknames,” JQuinn mused, noting Jordan and Sierra as she picked at her cake. 

“They have nicknames,” Benny said. “They’re Sevs and Ocho.”

“But those aren’t good!” JQuinn exclaimed. “And bad nicknames are unacceptable on my team!” 

“The captaincy’s already going to your head,” Benny teased.

JQuinn waved her off. “Hush, I’m thinking.” She paused, her face contorted into a thinking expression, before lighting up. “I’ve got it!” she exclaimed. 

“What?” Benny asked cautiously.

“What about Seven,” JQuinn pointed to Jordan, before moving to Sierra, “and Eight?”

Jordan and Sierra looked at each other. Jordan shrugged. Sierra nodded. Seven and Eight smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I proposed a "Longshot" ficlet collection, I got two affirmative responses, and that was all I needed to put some of my extra ideas down. One of those two responses was from Fifer_not_a_girl, who requested more stuff with Seven and Eight, so I decided it was time to detail the complicated history of the numerically-nicknamed defenders. 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading. And if there's anything you want to see in one of these ficlets in the future, let me know!
> 
> **Next time: we take a look at a curious occurrence from Donner and Franco's sophomore year.**


	2. Ava House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Sophomore year was a time, man.” Both seniors were aware of the hidden weight to that statement, but they had long passed acknowledging it._  
>  \- From "Longshot," Chapter 19
> 
> Something happened between Donner and Franco in their sophomore year. Everything changed. Nothing changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from the song by the Menzingers.

It’s August, and the first person Mackenzie sees at Samwell for her sophomore year is, naturally, Kelly. 

Mackenzie, with some assistance from Davy and Cam, is moving into her dorm. She juggles a stack of boxes when she hears a familiar voice shout, “Is that Mackenzie Donohue I see?”

Mackenzie looks off to the side of the boxes to spot Kelly running towards her with a grin on her face. “Woah, Franco, let me put my shit down first before you tackle me!” Mackenzie manages to say as she drops her boxes. 

The two friends wrap each other in a hug. “Oh, do I have stories for you,” Kelly says. 

“You can tell me later.” Mackenzie chuckles. “Or you can help me move in and you can tell me sooner.”

“You’re on your own, man,” Kelly replies. “But we’re hall-mates this year! I’m right down that-a-way.” She points down the hall to their left.

“Great, more time with you,” Mackenzie says with an exaggerated eye roll, but her smile betrays her true intentions.

Davy and Cam stick their heads out of Mackenzie’s room. “C’mon, Mack. We’re helping you move in but you’re not doing anything! My arms are getting tired,” Cam complains.

“Sorry Cam! Give me a sec!” Mackenzie shouts back.

As Davy goes to get another box, he notices Kelly. “Oh, hey!”

She smiles and waves. “Hi Cousin Donner!”

Davy laughs at the nickname as he heads off.

“Technically there’s two Cousin Donners here,” Mackenzie says. “There’s Davy, and then the annoying one is Cam.”

“I heard that!” Cam calls.

Mackenzie shouts back, “Love you, cuz!” She turns back to Kelly. “I should really help them, so I’m gonna go, but I’ll text you when we’re done and we can hang, okay?”

“Sounds good,” Kelly says. “See you later.”

Mackenzie texts Kelly when she has unpacked and sent her cousins off, and gets a reply telling her to take the stairwell all the way to the right of the hall and go all the way up. She follows the directions and pushes open the door at the top of the stairwell, which reveals a flat roof. 

Kelly sits cross-legged in the middle of it, staring out at campus with a black baseball cap on her head. She turns to look at Mackenzie. “There you are!” she exclaims. “You get lost or something?”

“I took the wrong stairwell,” Mackenzie replies sheepishly.

Kelly pats the spot next to her and Mackenzie sits down. “How’d you find out about this?” she asks.

Kelly shrugs. “Exploring. It’s a good place to hang out. And I figured you’d like it.”

Mackenzie smiles. “I appreciate the consideration.”

“So how was your summer?”

“Good. Busy, but good.”

“What did you do?”

“A lot of development camps, some national team stuff. I spent the rest of the time with my cousins.”

“Cool,” Kelly says. “You seem really close with your cousins.”

“Yeah. They’re more like siblings than cousins, honestly. We all kind of grew up together,” Mackenzie replies. 

“Yeah, I get that,” Kelly says. “My family is huge, y’know, classic Italians. But we’re all pretty close, and I like that. I spent a lot of time with my family this summer.”

“I can tell. Your ‘Joisey’ accent’s back.”

Kelly laughs. “My accent never left! You just got used to it.” This is a callback to a debate the two friends had several times last year over their respective speaking patterns.

Mackenzie crosses her arms. “I still refuse to admit that.” She decides to change the subject. “What did you do this summer?”

“I mostly played summer camp counselor, but I had time for goalie training camp,” Kelly replies. “Ugh, just thinking about it makes me tired.”

Mackenzie laughs. “The counselor-ing or the training camps?”

“The counselor-ing. I was stuck with a group of fucking eleven- and twelve-year-old boys, and I think their sole purpose for the summer was to drive me out of my mind.”

“That sounds rough.”

“It was! I mean, you know me, I love having fun and messing around, so I figured, sign up for the oldest boys’ group I can work with, it’ll all be fun and games! Nope! That backfired on me horrifically,” Kelly says, sounding exasperated. “I’ve got enough stories from my summer with those little monsters to last us an entire bus ride to Clarkson and back.”

“Alright then,” Mackenzie responds. “How’d the training camp go?” 

“It was good!” Kelly said. “I’m definitely coming into this year better than ever. Like, maybe even starting material.”

“Are you gonna hope Lenny gets injured again?” Mackenzie teases, her smirk conspiratorial.

Kelly gasps in faux-shock. “What? Me, hope for bodily harm to befall someone? Never!”

The two girls laugh.

“But seriously,” Kelly adds. “I’ve got a good feeling about this year.”

Mackenzie smiles. “Yeah. Me too.”

* * *

It’s December, and Mackenzie, Kelly, and the rest of SWH are enjoying the last kegster of the calendar year. They’re calling it Epikegster 2012 and it has all the hallmarks of a Haus party: lots of people, plentiful alcohol, limited space unless you’re making out upstairs. It’s a recipe for a great night--or a disastrous one.

Mackenzie and Kelly hang out downstairs, airing their grievances about the semester that has passed. They’re both down a couple of drinks. Mackenzie’s in jeans and a patterned t-shirt, and the sleeves of her zip-up sweatshirt are pushed up to her elbows. Kelly has her black baseball cap as always, a loose t-shirt that’s bearing just a little of her stomach, and a pair of ripped jeans. 

They enjoy each other’s company. They watch the men’s team’s new manager cream JQuinn at flip cup. Shitty challenges Kelly to a round of pong, so she grabs Mackenzie as her partner. They lose. 

As the night wears on, Mackenzie finds herself looking at Kelly. That’s not out of the ordinary- she looks at Kelly, for various reasons, a lot. But something about this feels different. It might be the alcohol clouding her mind, but Kelly seems… brighter. Her short hair curls around her face. Her brown eyes sparkle, warm and inviting. She grins wide in the way she usually does, like she’s having the time of her life.

Mackenzie can feel her heart beating fast in her chest, and her stomach feels twisted, but not in nausea. What is this?

Kelly grabs her wrist and drags her somewhere else, and Mackenzie feels her pulse spike. When they stop, a little further back, Mackenzie feels like her body acts on its own. She looks right into Kelly’s eyes, then leans in and plants her lips on Kelly’s. 

Mackenzie Donohue is kissing Kelly Franceschi, and Kelly is kissing back. Mackenzie doesn’t know how long it lasts, but it feels like a wonderful eternity.

They pull apart, and Mackenzie looks at Kelly again. Her eyes are no longer sparkling- they’re filled with fear. Kelly runs away and disappears into the crowd. 

“Franco, Kelly, wait!” Mackenzie calls, but her voice is drowned out amid the noise of the kegster.

* * *

It’s the morning after, and Mackenzie wakes up with only a marginal headache. She’s always been remarkably immune to hangovers, but she almost wishes she was hurting physically like she was hurting emotionally. The majority of last night’s kegster is fuzzy, but she remembers two things clearly: kissing Kelly, and Kelly’s face when they pulled away.

Still curled up in her bed, she checks her phone. The SWH group chat is filled with messages and pictures from last night. There’s a selfie Mackenzie and Kelly took, and one JQuinn snapped of them playing pong against Shitty and Lardo. In both, they look happy, so happy. Now, their happiness is like a knife to Mackenzie’s heart. 

Mackenzie also finds several messages she sent to Kelly late last night, saying she’s sorry and she just wants to talk. They’re all unread.

Mackenzie goes back to Maine for winter break, and Kelly goes back to New Jersey. They don’t talk. Kelly doesn’t complain to Mackenzie about her cousins. Kelly doesn’t tell Mackenzie what her nonna did this time. Kelly doesn’t talk about her high school, or rant about the Devils, or ask about “Cousin Donner.” Kelly doesn’t talk to Mackenzie.

For the first few days, Mackenzie tries talking to Kelly. She apologizes up and down, then just tries to get Kelly to respond to something, to respond to _anything_. She never does.

Mackenzie stops trying after a few days. She starts leaving her phone in her room, though she checks it every night, hoping that maybe Kelly would have something to say to her. Mackenzie tries to focus on enjoying the time with her cousins, but it’s hard when you’re terrified that you’ve ruined the best friendship you’ve ever had.

The night before Christmas Eve, Mackenzie can’t sleep. Normally a good, warm blanket after a day spent with her cousins would knock her right out, but rest is completely eluding her tonight. She sighs and shrugs off the covers, then pulls on sweatpants and a sweatshirt, as quiet as she can so she doesn’t wake Cam. Mackenzie takes her skates and her stick and a few pucks and heads out to the homemade rink in the backyard.

She stands on the rink, juggling the puck between her forehand and backhand. Then she takes a big old slapshot. It misses the net by a mile, but it hits the pieces of old fence that act as end boards. The sound echoes back to Mackenzie. _Bang._

She takes the next puck. Doesn’t even juggle it, just winds up and shoots. _Bang._

Again. _Bang._

Again, again, again. _Bang. Bang. Bang._

Mackenzie feels like she’s breathing normally for the first time since before she kissed Kelly.

She collects the pucks and shoots again. _Bang. Bang._

She’s winding up for another shot when a figure appears on the back porch of the house. “Mack?” Davy asks, his voice muddled by sleep.

Mackenzie puts her stick down. “Uh…”

Davy looks between his cousin, the pucks at her feet, and the piece of old fence that is out of place just to the right of the net. He trudges through the snow and steps on to the rink. “Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she replies quickly. “Just… couldn’t sleep.”

“I know you’ve got a great wrister, but I didn’t know your slapshots were so loud,” Davy says. “And you know what that kind of shot sounds like?”

“What?”

“Pent-up emotion.”

“I don’t-” Mackenzie stops herself.

“I’m gonna go get a blanket from inside and sit on the porch,” Davy says. “Come sit with me and you can tell me what’s going on.”

He disappears back inside. Mackenzie takes off her skates and puts her stick and the pucks back, then takes a seat on the steps of the back porch. Davy reappears a moment later with a big blanket and two mugs of hot chocolate.

Mackenzie smiles as the mug heats her hands. “Thanks, Davy.”

“Always, Mack,” he replies. “Now, what’s going on?”

Mackenzie sighs and the emotions she’s tried so hard to bottle up rise all at once. They spill out within one sentence. “I ruined the best friendship I ever had.”

“Let it out,” Davy says, his voice sympathetic.

“We haven’t talked, and I’m with all of you guys, but I feel so… lonely. Like, I never realized how much she was in my life until she’s gone.” Mackenzie made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “And now I’ll never get it back.”

“What happened?”

Mackenzie takes a breath. “We were at a party, for the end of the semester. Me and Franco--Kelly. And we were having a great time and… and I don’t know, but something felt different, and I… I kissed her, Davy.” There were tears in her eyes as she looked at her cousin. “I kissed my best friend. And she kissed back, or at least I thought she did.” She sighed. “We haven’t talked since. And I’m _terrified_ that we never will.”

Davy wrapped an arm around Mackenzie in a half-hug. “Oh, Mack,” he said. “You’ve been carrying that around this whole time?”

She nods sadly.

“No wonder your shots were so loud. Talk about pent-up emotion.”

Mackenzie lets out a short, snotty chuckle at that one.

“Do you want advice, or do you just want to wallow in it right now?” Davy asks. “Because I can help you with either or both.”

“Advice,” Mackenzie replies. “I want to fix it, I just don’t know what to do.”

“Okay, advice it is,” Davy says. “I know this isn’t what you’re gonna want to hear, but you need to give her space. I think you’re both probably shocked, and scared, and trying to figure out what’s going to happen between you two, and I think she just needs some time to process alone, and you need to let her. But I know you, and I know how close you are with Kelly, and if I had to guess, I’d say she probably wants to fix it too. So give her space now, and when you go back to Samwell, then talk to her.”

“Okay.”

“But before that, I would recommend figuring out what you want your relationship to be,” Davy adds. “Was that kiss a drunken accident, or is there something more?”

“I… I don’t know,” Mackenzie admits. “I mean, Kelly’s my best friend and I want to say it was an accident, but… I don’t know.”

“And that’s okay. And if something changes, know that I’m not, and none of us are, going to think of you any differently.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“I know you know, I just wanted to remind you.” Davy smiles. “You’re gonna be fine, Mack. I know you can work this out.”

Mackenzie sighs. “I hope you’re right.”

“I know I’m right.”

Neither Davy nor Mackenzie says anything else. They just sit on the back porch with their hot chocolate and watch the night sky.

* * *

It’s January, and Mackenzie sits on the roof of her and Kelly’s building. Their first practice back is tomorrow, but Mackenzie wants to try talking to Kelly before then. She sent her old best friend a simple message.

_Rooftop? I just want to talk._

Alone under a gray sky, Mackenzie understands why Kelly always loved this place. It’s somewhere to worry about anything but yourself. You can watch the sky, see the clouds rush by, wonder when it’s going to rain or think about how much snow that storm is going to bring in. You can see the students walking by below you, and think about their problems instead of your own. 

The door to the rooftop creaks open, its rusty hinges squeaking loudly. 

Kelly is in her olive green winter coat, black jeans, and a pair of boots. A black beanie has replaced her usual baseball cap and her cropped brown hair, with new highlights, pokes out of the bottom.

The silence seems to go on forever. “Hi,” Mackenzie finally says.

“Hey,” Kelly replies.

“Want to sit down?” Mackenzie says. “I want to talk.”

Kelly buries her hands in her jacket pockets. “I’ll stay standing.”

Mackenzie decides to stand too, and Kelly comes a little closer, but not as close as she used to. Mackenzie takes a deep breath.

“Look, Franco- Kelly. I’m sorry,” Mackenzie begins. “What happened that night shouldn’t’ve happened. I hurt you, and that’s the last thing I wanted to do. You’re my best friend, and I don’t want to lose you.”

“Okay,” Kelly says. “But… answer one thing for me.”

“Sure.”

“Do you… like me? In that way. As more than friends.”

“I…” Mackenzie tries, but all the words leave her mouth.

It’s all the answer Kelly needs. She looks at the rooftop beneath her feet. “I’m straight. I- I can’t, Mack.”

“And I don’t expect you to!” Mackenzie blurts. “I never did. I never do.” She sucks in a shaky breath and blinks a few times to clear out the tears close to spilling. “I just want my best friend back.”

Quietly, Kelly replies, “Me too.”

“Nothing has to change between us,” Mackenzie insists. “I’m still me, you’re still you. We’ll still play hockey together and I’ll still send you weird videos and tell you about my cousins and you’ll still rant about engineering kids and text me when you’re high.” She adds, “That is, if that’s what you want to do.”

“I… yeah,” Kelly says. “Yeah. I want to put it behind us and be us again.”

“Me too.”

“And…” Kelly exhales. “I’m sorry, too. For running off when we should’ve just talked.” She laughs awkwardly. “God, that was the loneliest break of my life.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Mackenzie replies.

“So are we good?” Kelly asks.

Mackenzie smiles. “Yeah. We’re good.”

The two girls wrap each other in a hug. Two best friends, reunited at last.

* * *

It’s the first practice for Samwell Women’s Hockey after winter break, and no one has any idea that anything ever happened between Mackenzie and Kelly. To their teammates, Donner and Franco are just being their usual selves. They will never know how much has changed.

Mackenzie and Kelly will. Both of them will forever have a snapshot of that hazy night when they pressed their lips together and nearly ruined the best friendship either of them had ever had. It will haunt them, a skeleton in the closet, a specter trailing after their relationship. But they will also forever have a snapshot of that gray afternoon on the rooftop when they wrapped their arms around each other and mended the best friendship either of them had ever had. 

And for Mackenzie and Kelly, the latter will always be more important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, and as always, thank you for reading!
> 
> I was going to hold off posting this one until Wednesday or something, but I have no impulse control and this is mostly for my own enjoyment anyway, so I might as well. This ficlet came out of a single scene--Donner and Franco's kiss at the party--that had been swirling around in my head as I was starting to flesh out those two characters. I decided that moment was going to be part of their backstory, hence the quote from "Longshot" in the summary. It didn't change much about them, but it was an interesting way to get to know my characters by writing them when they were young and emotional, so unlike how Donner and Franco are in "Longshot." It's also worth noting, since it isn't mentioned in the story itself, that yes, Mackenzie is not straight! She's biromantic demisexual (though she won't have the words to describe it for a little while longer).
> 
> Thank you again for paying attention to my personal follies, and if there's something you want to see here, let me know!
> 
> **Next time: we take a look at the future of SWH with a scene from the Quacks' senior year.**


	3. Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _So one more time with feeling, one more time with feeling_  
>  _(Shaking in the shadows, shaking in the shadows, shaking in the shadows)_  
>  \- "Peace," Kids in Glass Houses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-posted from my (brand new!) [tumblr](https://longshot-girls.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> This was from one of my Spotify Wrapped challenges, where if you give me a number, I'll write a ficlet based on the song it corresponds to on my Spotify Wrapped. For this ficlet, the song was "Peace" by Kids in Glass Houses, plus the word "snowman" (thanks to Jude for the prompt!).

Someone is banging on Rosie’s door again.

Well, she knows exactly who it is. No one but Franco would be knocking on her door in the middle of the night. 

Rosie rolls over and grabs her phone to check the time. It’s two in the morning, an ungodly hour by anyone’s standards.

_Thump-thump-thump_. “Psst, Rosie!” she hears Franco whisper-shout.

Reluctantly, Rosie rolls out of bed and trudges to the door. Luckily, Cait is still asleep, so she doesn’t have to try to explain why her crazy teammate is knocking on their door at two AM. She pulls open the door. “What’s up, Franco?” she asks tiredly.

Franco meets her with wide eyes and a smile, somewhere between mischievous plotting and sheer excitement. “It’s snowing.”

“It’s snowing?” Rosie repeats.

“It’s snowing. Has been for a few hours,” Franco says. “And I know it’s kinda weird, but I’m like, feeling the urge to go make a snowman. I need a partner in crime, but Donner sleeps like a rock and gets mad at me if I wake her up, so you up for joining me?”

Rosie’s still half-asleep enough to not fully consider Franco’s proposition, but she doesn’t care. “I’m in. Give me a sec and then let’s go make a snowman.”

Franco grins. “Hell yeah. I knew I could count on you.”

Rosie closes the door on Franco, then waffles on whether or not she should put on actual pants, and ultimately opts to just tuck her flannel PJ pants into her winter boots and throw her jacket on top. She opens the door again, nods at Franco, then closes it behind her.

Rosie lives a little closer to the Big SHOWH than Achy and Rover, so it’s not a far walk back to the team house, which is also probably why Franco shows up randomly as much as she does. The two of them don’t talk much as they walk. Rosie mostly watches her feet and pays attention to the footprints left by her boots in the fresh snow. 

When they get to the Big SHOWH and stand on the little bit of lawn outside the house, Rosie asks, “So what’s the plan? You’re the engineering major.”

Franco chuckles. “Start gathering some snow,” she directs. “The whole ‘three balls’ thing only works in holiday movies, so I think we should just make a big pile and then give it eyes and a nose and arms and stuff.”

“Sounds good to me,” Rosie says as pulls on a pair of winter gloves. She then crouches down and begins gathering snow into a little pile. Franco kneels next to her and does the same.

“I can’t feel my fingers,” Franco says as their pile gets taller. “I think you had the right idea with the gloves.”

“If it makes you feel any better, my hands are freezing too,” Rosie replies with a chuckle. 

“Eh, not really, but at least we’re both suffering.” She adds, “You think I would have remembered after last time.”

“Last time?”

“Yeah. I did this same thing when I was a freshman.”

“Really?”

“Yup.” Franco explains, “I didn’t really get along with my freshman year roommate very well, so I crashed with various teammates a lot, even when I wasn’t getting sexiled. Swan, the captain that year, had a little house with a couple other athletes, so she let me stay over a lot, and one night when I was crashing with her, we got a bunch of snow. Like, it was snowing earlier that day, but there was a lot more overnight. And I remember Swan woke me up in the middle of the night and basically demanded ‘Franco, you’re gonna help me make a snowman.’ And I helped her make a snowman.” She chuckles, “It was the stupidest snowman ever. Well, technically a snow-woman, since we tried to give it boobs and then put one of Swan’s housemate’s bras on it. Oh my god, it was so funny.”

“So now you’re recreating that with me.”

“Basically.”

“Aw, that’s pretty cute,” Rosie says. “As long as we’re not giving our snowman boobs.”

“Nah, that didn’t work out too well.”

They both laugh. 

Then Rosie says, “Wait, I have an idea.”

“What is it?”

“You guys have got to have some old gear or something in the house, right? Make it an SWH snowman! Like, give it a helmet and hockey gloves.”

“Rosie, you’re a genius. That’s perfect.”

Once their snowman is looking suitably snowman-like, the two of them go hunting for accessories. Rosie gathers some pebbles and sticks from near the house, while Franco ducks inside to retrieve some old gear. When she walks out, an old helmet and a pair of hockey gloves in hand, Franco gets hit with something cold.

Rosie grins. “Oops.”

Franco unceremoniously drops the old gear from her arms. “Oh, it’s on!” she shouts, gathering up a handful of snow and chasing Rosie.

They trade snowballs flung with questionable aim until they’re nearly out of breath from laughing. 

“You should see a Franceschi family snowball fight,” Franco says. “My cousins are fierce, you wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“If they’re anything like you, I’d believe it.” Rosie adds, “Come on, let’s finish the snowman.”

Franco places the helmet awkwardly on its head and tries to dangle the gloves off the snowman’s arm-sticks. Rosie, meanwhile, gives it two pebbles for eyes and a slightly crooked smile. Then they step back and admire their handiwork.

“Not bad,” Franco declares. “Better than the one I made with Swan, definitely.”

“I would hope so,” Rosie says. “It’s cute.”

“Thanks for doing this with me, Rosie.”

The freshman smiles. “Of course. It was fun.” Through a yawn, she adds, “I should really get back to my dorm, I need to sleep.”

“You could just crash at the house,” Franco suggests.

Rosie gives her a look. “You just want me to make pancakes tomorrow morning, don’t you.”

“Maybe.”

“Then I think I’ll stay,” she says. “A snowman and pancakes aren’t a bad combo.”

Franco grins. “Damn right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I'm really happy with this little ficlet, it's cute and it makes me happy. Plus, Franco and Rosie have an underrated friendship, so I was happy to explore that a little. 
> 
> And as always, thank you for reading!


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